


Monsters

by AlixxBlack



Category: Carry On Series - Rainbow Rowell
Genre: Angst, Emotional Hurt, M/M, One Shot, POV First Person, at least probably anyway, long fic, snowbaz whump, song inspired: all time low, song inspired: monsters, unhealthy relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-09
Updated: 2020-09-09
Packaged: 2021-03-07 03:15:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,464
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26370103
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AlixxBlack/pseuds/AlixxBlack
Summary: This story is inspired by the song "Monsters" by All Time Low featuring blackbear. Simon details his struggles in his relationship with Baz pitch after moving to America in hopes of starting a life together, and consequently showcases the unhealthy aspects of their relationship.
Relationships: Tyrannus Basilton "Baz" Pitch/Simon Snow
Comments: 2
Kudos: 9





	Monsters

**Author's Note:**

> Potential Trigger Warning:
> 
> BEFORE YOU READ THIS FIC - I have rated this fanfiction as Teen & Up but want to err on the side of caution. There are allusions to sexual relations and sexual arousal in this story. There is also an instance where two characters are drinking intentionally before engaging in sexual intercourse with the hopes of decreased anxiety and inhibitions regarding an issue that is present at the time of the relationship. Please exercise caution even though I do not write these scenes with explicit language or imagery. If you feel that this may be triggered content - DO NOT READ THIS FIC - because your mental health is more valuable than the views on this story.

Another perfect picture got posted with two smiling faces. One is his - flawless and timeless, the other is mine - blotchy and squished. The only comments I acknowledged were those that came from Penny and Agatha, since everyone else made comments about how lucky I was supposed to feel being so loved by him. It wasn’t that I didn’t feel lucky, because I felt like the luckiest guy alive.

The thing that I struggled with was feeling like I wasn’t enough for him.

* * *

  
  


> _Why do all the monsters come out at night?_
> 
> _Why do we sleep when we want to hide?_
> 
> _Why do I run back to you, like I don't mind if you fuck up my life?_

* * *

  
  


I should’ve seen it coming. On Monday, Baz was asked to work late. So late, that he not only had dinner at the office but he had breakfast there too. He didn’t come home for dinner because he opted to take a nap under his desk instead. When he came home Tuesday, he came home with a stack of papers he needed to review for a before-sunrise meeting nobody told him about, which meant that I had to eat dinner on my own for the second night in a row. It was fairly common for me to miss dinner with Baz at least twice a week but never twice in a row. I knew something was wrong.

Wednesday night, Baz came home early with a blood-soaked collar, which means he went hunting alone after skipping the rest of his work day. He doesn't do that unless there’s something bothering him, which ended up being that he messed something up during the meeting and was chewed out in front of everyone. Thursday didn’t end up any better. Baz was sent to deal with some “relatively non-urgent matters” out of the office, which put him on edge for Friday…

When he got fired.

It wasn’t that Baz was bad at his job, but the problem was that he wasn’t actually good at his job either. Baz criticized everyone around him for making selfish and uninformed decisions. They played in the “ballpark of millions” while the people they served were “begging for pennies.” Those were, indeed, exact quotes from his numerous rants. That’s something about America I never really understood, literally, because I’ve not had to experience life the same way as those born here. We lived on more than Baz’s income, which was supposedly quite generous, according to him, but we had the benefit of his father’s savings account set aside for Baz as well. We lived simply but never wanted for a thing. It was the best life I had ever lived - and that includes my years at Watford.

Baz came home, drunk with a bottle of scotch in one hand and a box of wine coolers in the other. “Those bastards,” he said clear as day, but the rest was his retching through a series of complaints. I had to drag him to bed after wrestling the alcohol from his grasp. I forgot how strong he was, I guess. He was kicking, screaming, and puking the whole way. Somewhere along the way, he also socked me in the mouth before I finally got him all the way in the bed. I stood in the bathroom mirror staring at it. Even though Baz wasn’t in his right mind, it was still his hand.

Unfortunately, I let that be the first of many nights that would follow a similar pattern. I’d done my reading online, done my fair share of questioning after each night spent fighting Baz into bed so that he would just stop. Stop melting down, stop falling apart, stop ignoring me. I just wanted all of the pain and suffering for us to end. I never let myself think of what Baz did as abuse or as anything other than the shambling efforts to feel something by a man drained of his meaning.

It didn’t hurt me as much as it should have back then. I thought losing his job at the most prestigious and powerful accounting firm was a nail in the coffin of a good career Baz had always talked about. As far as I could tell, it was the most difficult thing he would ever have to overcome. I want to find our common ground while he struggled to figure himself out. More than once I tried to relate to his struggle, “I still don’t know what to do with this ‘after’ being the worst Chosen One ever, but I take it day by day. Having you here makes it easier.”

At first, he focused on my flirting and my compliments. It soothed the ache in our relationship for days, maybe weeks, it’s hard to say how long being as miserable as we were. In due time, he started to voice how little he cared to have me attempt to compare our situations. Not only was he unemployed, but he ended up being blacklisted from a number of companies in the _whole_ state, had no safe place to properly hunt, and was alone in the face of being a failure.

The way he said it, I don’t know, I just ate it up. How could I ever really understand the pressure on his shoulders? He was a vampire trying to fake his way into the normal world. With his magic, I never had to worry about my wings or my tail, his spell weaving was always at work to keep me normal. He was smarter than I could ever hope to be, even when he was drunk, and there was always an idea to do more rattling around in his head. Between Baz’s skill and talent and aspirations, I could never have gotten close enough to him. Even when I was the Chosen One, I was simple and clumsy and distracted. How could I ever measure up to such a tortured soul?

I wanted to help so I ended up getting a job for a while. Baz was usually gone all day trying to get in somewhere, _anywhere_ , for anything, The thought was that if I worked it would make him feel better that there was at least some kind of money coming into the house. It wasn’t glorious work or anything, just busing tables at a small diner around the corner. I always left after he did and I was always home before him, not because I thought he would be mad that I was working. I just wanted to keep being there for him when he was home. The servers there split the tips with me, which allowed me to keep food on the table without dipping into the reserves. It went well at first. The first month, everything was going well with my plan. I actually felt good for the first time in a long time.

When Baz pieced it all together, though, he was furious with me.

“Where did this come from?” he growled from that deep part of his throat that leaves smoke in its wake like fire. I had loved that tone of voice before, but it left me burned to be on the receiving end of it.

“I got a job a few weeks ago. You know, to help with the food and stuff. So you don’t have to take as much from the savings,” I had replied without thinking there was something wrong with it, even with the flames licking my face across the table. I knew I was wrong before he ever confirmed it. Baz squeezed his glass until his fingers actually turned somewhat pink. Then he kept squeezing until glass shattered all over the table, including his dinner. I’d purchased a decent cut of steak that night and served it raw, blood and all.

My first thought was that I regretted being honest first. However, I had read in a psychology article once that people aren’t defined by their first thought, but actually by their second one.

My second thought?

He ruined the steak with those shards of glass. With that being the second thing that flashed around in my brain, I had to wonder if maybe my relationship with food was just unhealthy. Penny used to defend my unhealthy dietary habits by relating it back to psychological damage and emotional trauma from growing up in an orphanage. I don’t know that she would defend this line of thinking, but I don’t think she’s approve of the man I’ve become either way.

“That’s not _your_ responsibility,” Baz groaned in agony, and for a second I thought we might've been on the same page about something. He was sad about the steak, and so was I, but that was wishful thinking. He stood up from his seat and it stared me down. I wanted to crumble into pieces under the weight of his eyes stuck on me. I didn’t know what he wanted from me, but I did know I wouldn’t give in to it. Instead, my face remained slack as he continued.

“I am taking care of you. You have no magic, no education! You are supposed to stay home and take care of the flat,” his voice was getting louder with each statement, but I refused to flinch. The way I saw it, he wanted control of the situation and I was willing to let him think he had it.

Well, _almost_ willing. “They’re called apartments on this side of the pond,” I croaked automatically. I found it much easier to be American that Baz did, and correcting him was basically a part of my personality back them.

Baz laughed, but not the way people should laugh. Before I could try to engage him in a conversation, he left the room with a devastating flourish. Seconds after the front door had slammed shut. I had no good guesses to determine how soon he would be back, but I didn’t care either. There were few things I knew with certainty. When it came to Baz, the only thing that I knew for sure was that he constantly operated in misery and despair.

And the only thing I knew was absolutely true about me was that I was going to stay. No matter what. Baz didn’t show up the next day so I showed up to work. I tried to quit my job discreetly with the owner, but she insisted that she’d always leave room for me. She must’ve known something was wrong at home. Part of me hoped that she could see the toxicity of my love life with Baz, though the other part of me wanted it to be a secret that I had fallen so deeply in love with the suffering. I didn’t want to feel ashamed when someone got a sneak peek into the dysfunctional life we lived together.

But I was so tired of feeling invisible to even the one person who claimed to love me.

* * *

  
  


> _Another day, 'nother headache in this hangover hotel_
> 
> _Gettin' used to the rhythm, yeah, I know this beat too well_
> 
> _Tunnel visions got me feeling, like you're the only one I see_
> 
> _But I know what's missing, where I'm swimmin'_
> 
> _In my lonely luxury_

* * *

At some point it became very clear to me that living in New York wasn’t the best thing for us anymore. It wasn’t healthy for Baz to be in the city that kept ringing him out and leaving him to dry in the streets. So it took some very careful planning and subtle influencing to get Baz to see it the same way I did. A comment here about being surrounded by the corrupt minds of Wall Street, or a passive aggressive complaint about how sick the city feels. Eventually, I just asked him, “Do you ever miss the countryside?”

About a month later, Baz started making calls and doing research when he thought I wasn’t looking. A month after that, we were on a plan to somewhere in the middle of Illinois. We were heading to a farmhouse in the middle of nowhere between some mid-sized cities that nobody sees on the map. Baz got into a low-level position at an accounting firm where he could keep to himself and just do his job the right way without anyone else trying to sway his opinion. For the first time in such a long time I prefer not to actually gauge, Baz was finally back to normal. It was the best magic I had ever seen. Fresh air really did some wonders!

Having a purpose can really change a person’s outlook, I learned. Baz came home in a good mood, talking about his purpose in helping ‘the little guy’ to ensure that they got what was owed to them. He felt secure in himself and the new life we’d started in the country of Illinois. It made me reflect on my purpose and myself. I wasn’t sure that I had one really. Our relationship seemed to be the only purpose I had in my life – being a good partner to Baz because he needed it. Not only that, but he deserved it. The only truth I knew of myself most days was this: Baz loves me.

Unfortunately, love is very complex, and I had to learn again that Baz loves working and feeling important as much as he loves me. If not more…

It made me work on myself during the day. Giving myself a full life was my new purpose. I started farming and using all of my “nuggets” of knowledge from the days I had spent alongside Ebb. I wanted to maintain a ranch but I started small with a couple of crops and a couple of livestock. It was just enough to keep us fed and stocked up. It even worked out well for Baz, because when it was time to slaughter the livestock he could drain them to feed and save him a hunting trip.

Things seemed to stay good, and our live was simple and sweet. It felt like forever and no time at all, this happy period of our life. We talked future plans and personal goals. I didn’t think anything could stop us from being this happy with each other. It felt like we were on an solid upswing.

At least, I thought we were.

History repeated itself, and the nights at work eventually got longer. As Baz’s impact and vision helped the firm grow, the need to be social present grew in kind. Soon there were business events and fundraisers, and whatever else that made sense to businesspeople Baz worked with at the firm. Before long, all of Baz’s free time was spent in the city. Sometimes he even stayed in town overnight because of how the long drive could be after a late dinner party. It started to feel too much like our life in New York.

A table set for two was again left with one diner – me – waiting for him to want to come home to me. I spent a lot of those lonely nights thinking about the differences between our life in New York to our country life in Illinois. What had really changed? As more weeks passed where I was alone for dinner, the fewer things I could find that had changed. The only difference I kept returning to was that I couldn’t find a job as easily out here. The ranch did take up much of my day, but that still left the evenings free. Having nothing to do to keep me distracted was damning. Plus, we only owned the one vehicle, and Baz drove it for work. Even if I could find a job, I’d have no way to get there.

When I tried to broad the topic with Baz about how late he’s working, he swears that it’ll pay off. Soon he’d be able to work from home part of the week, and maybe even reach a point where he could be an investor rather than a worker, so that he could be home daily. I believed him but only with half of my heart, though he did mention that he wanted to start bringing me to these business events. Again, I didn’t hold my breath until two weeks later he invited me to a brunch scheduled for a Saturday. He “briefed” me on who’s-who and what I should and should not say to the crowd. It felt very mechanical but I’ve never been socially skilled. Baz could dazzle a room just saying ‘hello,’ so I followed his advice. I shadowed him and doted upon him whenever the opportunity arose. He even complimented my hard work.

Something felt off about it, though. All of it – the having me join him at dinner parties and fundraiser events, even calling me on his lunch. It was very odd. For a while, I questioned it, and even questioned him. Baz had me convinced that I was just projecting my trauma, that I didn’t know how to be loved the right way because nobody loved me. He didn’t discount his role in the matter, but continued to insist that this was just him trying to be a good partner – a good boyfriend. It made me wonder if I wasn’t being a good enough other half to him. So I started sending gifts to the office, simple but sincere. I was almost at peace with the change in our relationship dynamic.

Almost.

Then came the business retreat. As with everything else, Baz invited me along. The accounting firm had opened four new locations and was catching the eye of some big corporate companies. Baz’s business education and charm was really moving the firm up the ladder, and this business retreat was a way to officially make those connections. Again, I was almost past the doubt that kept weighing my guts down, so I was actually kind of excited to go. I thought that this was going to be great! Baz made plans to work only during certain times and to have alone time with me, and I thought it was good. It sounded good and well thought out. It felt sincere.

Baz stayed true to his plan by doing all of the morning meetings and seminars. He’s back by 12:00 sharp for lunch both days. We do a massage together after lunch on Saturday, but after that we just went from one place to the next. We spent every second in every location just chatting up executives that could “take the firm to a new level.” Baz introduced me as his “husband-to-be” like we were engaged (we weren’t) and discussed at great length how being a marginalized immigrant sometimes got him into trouble when he was in New York. When people questioned this, he said that just because New York City is the ‘City of Dreams’ doesn’t mean that the business scene had changed. He even remarked, “They like to keep it in the family, if you know what I mean.” I didn’t know what he meant, but it sounded like something corrupt and inappropriate, so I just nodded with as blank of a face as possible. The Illinois executives laughed and started to drag men and women from New York through the mud. The horrible things that they said, the things that Baz said, I was so shocked. Despite my discomfort, I played along.

When we were packing up to leave Sunday, Baz answered a knock on the door. It was someone that offered Baz a business card and suggested he reach out with more information about work stuff. Baz is beaming afterwards, but there was something specific that was said that had me on edge. “We could benefit from your diversity.” I was immediately offended. Then it dawned on me when Baz started bragging about ‘the game’ he played all weekend to secure this connection for the firm. We didn’t talk the whole way home because he just kept taking calls with his co-workers, talking about the connection and possible promotions.

Baz didn’t care about our relationship. Bringing me was never about making sure our love was balanced perfectly with work. He only brought me to show off his sexuality, proving his intelligence and status as a member of the LGBT community. It’s not like I was socially conscious or anything, but I was on the Internet. I knew stuff. My first instinct was to be mad, but really? It didn’t matter. I accepted that there was a bigger plan at play than I could ever understand. Business was Baz’s thing and he never did anything he didn’t think was right. Plus, when we got home and crawled into bed Baz was so sweet to me. His kisses were tender but full. His fangs grazed my lower lip and tickled my neck. I hadn’t felt so wanted in months. Being a trophy was worth the cost if it meant being Baz’s forever and always, I supposed.

* * *

> _I_ _'m addicted to the way you hurt, the way you contradict me_
> 
> _I swear everything looks worse at night, I think I'm overthinking_
> 
> _I don't care who I might hurt along the way, I'm fuckin' sinking_
> 
> _Into every word, I don't care if you lyin' when I'm drinking_
> 
> **_So, tell me pretty lies, look me in my face_ **
> 
> **_Tell me that you love me, even if it's fake_ **
> 
> _You can lead me on and leave these questions in my sheets_
> 
> _I'm under it, I made my bed and I'm still wonderin'_

* * *

It would be a lie if I said it was easier and easier to ignore the frown that fell on Simon’s face when I walked in late on Friday nights reeking of perfume and martinis. It would also be a lie to say I planned to go to all of these social events with my co-workers. The ladies loved hanging out with a gay man who wouldn’t hit on them, and the men appreciated the feminine touch on my masculine feedback. The opportunities were always endless and with my new role at the firm? Making connections, building relationships, it was all part of the job. If I kept up the work, in another five years, I wouldn’t have to work outside of brunches and luncheons a few times a week. Doing this was going to let me really, truly grow old with Simon at my side. I just needed to him to stick with me for a little bit longer. The life I wanted to share with him could spare no expense, no sacrifice.

But I saw the way he looked at me when I put my things away. He had much more than slack features and dead eyes. When I passed him like nothing was wrong, his whole body seemed to give up. I don’t think he searched for signs of me cheating on him, but I could tell he was searching for something. He wanted answers to questions he wasn’t brave enough to ask. He wanted answers to questions that I couldn’t find. If I was a better boyfriend, maybe Simon would’ve have seemed like such a stranger to me. More often than not, I counted myself lucky when my captor-in-the-night charm, which sickened me just as much. I hated to play so many villainous roles just to keep him in my arms.

I stopped behind the couch where he sat, put my hands over his shoulders, and asked him, “What was for dinner?” When I looked down the shadows cut his face harshly. It put me in a mood that didn’t match how I felt just seeing his face at the end of the week. It was pure conflict in my mind and in my heart. **A snarl pretended to climb up my throat but instead it receded back into my imagination.** Having glanced around the living room to hide my struggle, I eventually settled my gaze back onto him. His eyes looked empty.

“I wasn’t hungry tonight,” he said as he shrugged me off. Something in me didn’t believe him, or maybe I hadn’t wanted to, but when I turned around and looked at the kitchen – it was immaculate. It was pristine and clean and empty. Empty like Simon…

I tried to ignore it. Out of respect, I offered to make dinner. Simon declined. I offered to give him a massage, or to clean him in the shower, but he declined. The more I walked through the house, the more I noticed that everything was tidied more than usual. Something about it was out of place and I didn’t want to consider the worst-case scenario. I didn’t want to think that Simon might’ve…

As I stepped into the bedroom, Simon got up and joined me. He was silent the whole trek, and only made a sound when he sat down the bottle of vodka. It was rare that Simon would ever want to drink. It was rare that he ever did something romantic that wasn’t first provoked by me. It never bothered me, truth be told, but this time it raised some red flags. He never planned to get drunk, never planned to have sex while drinking, and there was something about it.

He took the first… second… and third shot. I begged him to slow down but he insisted he needed to “catch up” with me because I’d already had a few drinks at dinner. The way he said it was heavy and dark, sinking like a rock in the ocean, and I was drowning in how fatal it felt. I matched him shot for shot after that. We drank in thick silence with the only sound in the room being our glasses slamming on the table to pour another. Simon finally made a move when we were halfway through the bottle. Shaking hands, blurred vision, and burning cheeks rendered him weak and handsome all at once. I should’ve turned him down or pushed him away. I should’ve walked out of the room and locked all of the doors, because I knew when I would wake up in the morning he would be gone. I should’ve done anything in my power to keep him there.

But I didn’t. I caved. I drowned in the heat of his body pressed against mine. I dug my fingers into him just to feel how close he could be, commanding every skin cell to memorize the pattern of him underneath me. The sound of his submission was different, freer than it had ever been before, but I knew the price he paid for it. When he called out commands and declared his love for me, it was too good to be true.

I didn’t ever fall asleep that night. I showered while he snored. I checked every room for an inventory of belongings that were missing from their assigned spots while I towel dried my hair. I got all of Simon’s bags out in the open by the front door so that I could do one last thing for him. Originally, I intended to sit back in bed and wait next to him, but I couldn’t stand the thought of my last memory in our shared room being the image of him walking away from me. Instead, I sat at the kitchen table, hands folded and eyes closed. I didn’t want him to try to sneak past me. When he left, he needed to look me in the eyes and say “good-bye.” I didn’t deserve a lot from him, but I deserved that much.

There was no more lying or pretending when Simon stumbled into the kitchen. He wore his hangover like he planned for it to be his mask when he issued the final blow. With squinted eyes, he stumbled into the refrigerator and ripped out the orange juice. He opened a cabinet and tapped around for the aspirin bottle but I had it in front of me at the table. Simon couldn’t find it and tried to avoid asking me where it was by checking every cabinet and drawer before he sat down at the table. He wouldn’t make it very far even with the aspirin, and he knew it, so he resigned to answer the questioned I never asked out loud.

_Why? How long?_

Simon always could read me better than I could read him.

“I don’t know,” he purred before I even asked why he let me taste him one last time before he left me successful and alone. “I don’t know!”

I replied quickly after he repeated himself. “You do, you just don’t want to tell me.”

“I can’t stay here,” he finally revealed, as if it were still a secret somehow.

“I know,” I confirmed. For all the years that I would have ahead of me, I would have to accept that Simon wouldn’t love me for all of them. In those moments, I couldn’t believe that I ever believed he loved me at all, that I ever thought he really loved me. The idea came later, the wondering of a broken heart, was that why I wanted so much for us? Regardless of what I wanted to why, it turned out that I squandered my time with him trying to make sure we were protected from the world.

Simon did have one question for me before he left, though. He was so afraid to ask it that he called it over his shoulder as he walked out of the kitchen. “Could you ever love me more than your work, Baz?”

“I always have,” I said in a flat tone. **Yet the answer was never that simple, not in matters of the heart.** If it were true, he wouldn’t have walked out the front door. If it were false, he never would have been here to begin with.

So what part of what I did was wrong?

* * *

> _I'm wondering why do all the monsters come out at night?_
> 
> _Why do we sleep when we want to hide?_
> 
> _Why do I run back to you, like I don't mind if you fuck up my life?_
> 
> _Why am I a sucker for all your lies?_
> 
> _Strung out like laundry on every line_
> 
> _Why do I come back to you, like I don't mind if you fuck up my life?_

* * *

For the first few months after I had left, I checked his social media profile a few times a day, just to see if he’d move on to some other man. I half expected him to reveal that he was bisexual all along and end up with some beautiful girl, far more attractive and influential than I was, but it never happened. After that lonely phase of regret and social media stalking, I started to only check a few times a week, and I justified it by saying I was watching for him to announce that big promotion he was hoping to get at work when I had left him. Honestly, I didn’t feel foolish at first, but eventually I started to wonder what I was doing and why. I started to feel like an idiot for hoping that I could admire him from a distance like some star crossed loved I had lost my opportunity with or something.

Being without him felt just as bad as being with him, I had decided.

When I left, I had only allowed myself to take so much money to survive on since I also took the only car he owned. If he really wanted to, he could’ve charged me with theft, but he didn’t seem to care that I was even gone. At least, not enough to change his profile to say that he was single, not enough to change his profile picture from the two of us to just himself. Maybe I should have been flattered that he seemed to expect me to come back, but it just reminded me why I had left in the first place. I never mattered to him.

Eventually, by the way, he did update his profile to show that he got a promotion. It wasn’t the one he wanted, but I think it was even better. After that, his profile was updated to be private. Since I had deleted him from my connections list, I was no longer able to check on him. That should’ve been my sign to move on, and I guess I did in some weird sort of way, but he was never far from my mind. Whenever I was in a big city, I swear I saw him in the crowd. It would take me hours to recover from the racing heart and paranoia that he was following me around. It was silly to think that, since he was a busy man with better people to keep him company than me.

It was hard to keep track of time after awhile because my charging port broke sometime after my funds started to run low. Since I couldn’t survive on the small amount of money I had forever, I switched my diet to foods on dollar menus and cheap coffee twice a day. To avoid gym memberships, I only showered at public beaches and truck stops so that I could save money. There was this one time I decided to splurge and get a hotel so that I could sleep in a bed for a change, but before I ever reached my destination I was driving on the highway and got rear ended by someone trying to catch an exit or something. I couldn’t remember much before waking up in the hospital.

When I did wake up, I saw Baz standing there while the nurse gave him updates. He was nodding his head but his eyes were locked on me. He didn’t turn away or speak to her in any capacity. She said something about returning with a discharge folder in a few hours after the x-rays and labs came back. After she left, Baz sat next to me, assessing my injuries himself. He sighed, rubbed his forehead. “You’re lucky you didn’t die.”

It made me wonder if I’d been out for a long time or something, but Baz knocked that worry from my mind before I could mull it over for even a full second. “Thankfully, I didn’t take you off of my insurance plan, so the accident is completely covered, especially since you’re not at fault.”

“Yeah, lucky,” I murmured, not feeling lucky at all.

“You’d be in a fair bit of legal trouble otherwise,” he’d stated, like being a sucker for him was my only lifeline in the face of all of the big, bad monsters of the world. I wanted more than anything to not need him.

More than anything to not _want_ him…

I muttered, “Thanks,” and kept my eyes on the ceiling. Should I have asked if he was okay? Should I have offered to get a job to pay him back? Should I have kicked him out f my room? I didn’t know the right thing to do so I did nothing. And neither did he.

We never discussed a damn thing, either. He stayed there overnight waiting for me to get addition tests. He talked with staff and introducing himself as a friend, despite the loving way he’d touch my hand when we got updates. It was so obvious to the nurses that even if the sparks weren’t flying between us then that we had history. After the doctor discharged me and sent staff in to get me into a wheelchair, they asked if “my boyfriend” was going to take me home. Baz didn’t fight it. So I didn’t either. It sounded like poison but tasted like home.

And I just needed a home for once in my goddamn life.

* * *

  
  


> _Thinkin' about you, you're in my head_
> 
> _Even without you, I still feel dead_
> 
> _Why do I run back to you, like I don't mind if you fuck up my life?_
> 
> _Dead, thinking about you, you're in my head_
> 
> _Even without you, I still feel dead_
> 
> _Why do I run back to you, like I don't mind if you fuck up my life?_

* * *

  
  


He left me this time. 

It was my fault.

Where had the time gone? We were almost thirty and Baz had become everything he wanted to be while I was just his nobody boyfriend tending to the ranch. He hosted dinner parties for support staff and friends from work while flying out to big executive dinners. He was about to join the Board of Directors and work almost exclusively from home. We were supposedly “looking forward” to it. That’s what he said all the time, at least. I don’t think I ever believed it.

I don’t think I ever wanted it, either.

After years of saying we were engaged when we weren’t, and admitting that he never even told anyone I had left for a year, he finally proposed properly with a ring and all. There were rose petals from the backdoor to our wraparound porch – the one I’ve been building while he’s been in conference calls and reviewing business documents. He had champagne poured with freshly warmed scones in the middle of the table. He didn’t hide the ring or get on one knee. Instead he proposed to me like it was a presentation. Highlighting our highest highs and lowest lows, he made sure his proposal was emotionally moving. I think it was supposed to be a reminder of why I loved him. It was more of a persuasive speech than a proposal.

And for some reason, that is when I decided it was time to be honest. I decided that this was the right time to be completely transparent with Baz about everything I thought and felt about our relationship. I didn’t care how many times before I had plunged myself back into his depths in an effort to forget the pain of being with him when we weren’t buried beneath the sheets. I didn’t care how much I enjoyed being his second-pick every day up until that point. He needed to know the truth: _I couldn’t be his future._

“What the hell,” he’d asked, breathy and shocked by my proclamation.

It was easy once I started. I gave him reason after reason about why we weren’t a good fit and how everything about us was toxic. How I let him treat me like an accessory to show off and how I let him because I liked the idea of knowing that he was too insecure to fall for anyone else. He called me ridiculous, as he should have, but I told him that he was just foolish and desperate to keep me trapped in these four walls waiting for him to slump back home into our shared bed. We were addicted to the explosive release of each other’s intimate company. We didn’t care about caring; we just cared about being together when the lights turned off. Maybe it wasn’t true for him, It was rude of me to assume that he felt the same way I did, but I couldn’t deny that that’s what it had become to me.

I only stayed because I liked the way he made me feel when he chose to love me.

We had an argument after I aired out my darkest thoughts, but it wasn’t the type of fight where we raised our voices or screamed profanities at each other. The whole mess was clear to see and it ended up just being that for everything I thought was a problem, Baz explained it away like it was nothing to be concerned about. The only thing we did agree on was that he looked at our life together through a blurred lens in an effort to stay comfortable. In the end, Baz accepted how I felt with a huff and a flick of his wrist.

I didn’t deserve anything more or anything less from him after botching his proposal. I may have felt differently leading up to this moment, because I always felt like a second string in Baz’s life line-up. It never felt like “Simon Snow” was a priority to him. When he countered my every complaint with an explanation of ‘why,’ it realized that the I was the problem all along. I couldn’t be happy with Baz because I wanted someone who would dote upon me and lift my spirits and be the goopy boyfriend that I always was for Agatha. I wanted someone who wouldn’t just treat me like a gift in their life, but someone who would be a gift in mine. Baz was a treat, but never the whole boyfriend I expected him to be. I watched him walk though the front door and re-emerge with only his wallet and briefcase for work. He didn’t need anything else.

Before, maybe I would’ve thought that this was all he needed because it was the only thing that I mattered to him. I used to think I never mattered to him but I was dead wrong. Baz only took those things because that’s what he knew would be there for him for the rest of his life. I was temporary. There was no question about it because I was mortal. Baz cared about his professional career not because it was more important to him but because he knew someday I wouldn’t be here when he came home – and not because I left him. Someday I would die and the only thing he would have left would be his work.

For the first time since I’d asked him if he loved work more than me, I finally had an answer that I could accept.

He didn’t love work more than me.

He loved me more than _everything_.

But I didn’t want him to.

* * *

  
  


> _I'm wondering why do all the monsters come out at night?_
> 
> _Why do we sleep when we want to hide?_
> 
> _Why do I run back to you, like I don't mind if you fuck up my life?_
> 
> _Why am I a sucker for all your lies?_
> 
> _Strung out like laundry on every line_
> 
> _Why do I come back to you, like I don't mind if you fuck up my life?_

* * *

  
  


Seeing Baz with other men never got easier. He held their hands, kissed their cheeks, and posted pictures of both whenever he got the chance. The only thing was that it never seemed very clear if he was in a serious relationship, or if these were just casual friends that he could have a good time with when he had time. There was only one clear truth – Baz never settled down or stopped working. I watched him from afar for years while I continued to live on the ranch. In comparison to my meager and simple life, Baz’s was luxurious. Every few days he was tagged in group pictures with gorgeous men and women that most people would die to be in the same room as – or he shared pictures of his sexy company with their flutes of champagne. At first it felt intentional – he only posted pictures of people drinking champagne. It was my favorite.

I never drank it again after Baz left. He left the ring, too. I hated myself for wearing it all the time. I put it on my right hand. When people asked me about it, I just said it was a gift from an old friend. It rarely got questioned after that, but my neighbors always knew. It was obvious that it was an engagement ring to anyone who looked at it. I guess I never stopped being pathetic.

My life after Baz left was the closest to normal I’d ever been. I would be a liar if I didn’t admit to having my own string of love interests. Of course, they rarely became more than lovers in passing. Men and women came and went as quickly as the wind blew, but they never expected more from me. I think I just had that personality. It was also difficult to keep anyone around for too long because I had a very specific type: pale skin, long limbs, and dark hair.

I was the reason stuck around for too long, of course, because I preferred to wake up alone. I liked when the mattress was still cool to the touch, like maybe he could still be there. Unfortunately, I pushed him out of my life. We deserved something better than each other.

Life moved very fluidly without Baz, even if it was painful sometimes. Sometimes I had nightmares about how I let him walk away, and how he kept walking. Still, I did manage to enjoy my life fully in the years that followed. My routine became more like home than he ever was when he was here. I painted over the walls with green paint, filled empty corners with plants, and landscaped the front yard into a luxurious oasis along the countryside.

As my neighbors aged, I started helping them out to fill my time too. I made good friends and found myself at Sunday afternoon potlucks with big families that considered me a part of the group. I even became a bit of a barbeque master with the grandkids. Overcooked, too saucy, and bland – apparently I had the same tastes as little kids. At least, I did, until my time came. Before I even realized it, I was among the “older folk,” preferring potato salad to chips. I didn’t want as much sauce anymore, and I started paying attention to my sugars and carbs.

Eventually, more than just my food preferences changed, and it was strangely easy to accept; I couldn’t keep up with the ranch as well in my late forties. The larger livestock became too demanding and I had to decide whether or not to hire some farmhands or give up the animals. I figured, financially, I’d made sure I was comfortable – something Baz taught me was important – so I sold the livestock to farmers that I knew would do the job well. Before long, my late fifties were here, and I realized that small livestock was wearing me down too. It was time to focus on the small amount of crops I kept and the garden. I sold the chickens to a butcher who was down on his luck and settled into my life as a slowly-but-surely-retiring famer.

As for Baz… He never had to give up anything he didn’t want to. In his pictures, people commented on how amazing it was that he was in his thirties but still looked like a teenager. He would then correct them by saying he’s actually in his fifties but lives a very clean lifestyle. He preached a lot of healthy eating, nutritional supplements, and keeping secrets for way too long as the story behind his everlasting youth. Nobody even bat an eye over it, never questioning it whatsoever. Occasionally there were rumors, of course, but celebrities and rich folk often look far younger than they are, so it never amounted to more than craziness from the conspiracy corner of the Internet.

He wasn’t going to be able to hide it forever so he took his wealth and disappeared to travel the world. He stopped sharing images of himself and instead focused on the people around him. His social media accounts became about culture and social activism. In a lot of ways he became what the kids called “an Influencer.” Baz was making money without ever having to show his face. Before long, nobody knew what he looked like and everyone forgot how old he was supposed to be. It was a wonderful life he’d made for himself.

That’s not to say that my life wasn’t wonderful, too. It really was a treat to share pictures of the sunset and sunrise from my backyard. Similarly to Baz, I stopped sharing pictures of myself. Instead, I focused on the humble life I enjoyed. Pictures of my coffee, my cooking, my interior design, and the plants that I’d eventually consider my children – that was my style.

It was a good reminder of how different we had always been.

The change came one day when Baz posted a picture of road stretched out ahead of him. I wasn’t checking his stuff as often as I used to and it was only by chance that I happened across it because I forgot to close my apps on my phone. When I saw it, I couldn’t resist reading the caption: “I owe it to myself to get back to my roots and spend some time in the only place that I could ever call my home.”

If it would’ve been a road leading to Watford or the Pitch manor, or even a road in New York that housed a number of businesses, I would’ve bee less shocked. It wouldn’t have sent my heart a flutter. It would’ve have made me jump to my feet in shock. It wouldn’t have made me drop my phone and run to my door. I wouldn’t have whipped it open to check outside, just to be certain.

But the picture wasn’t of a road to Watford or some busy street in New York. Baz didn’t share the driveway up to the manor. He posted a picture of a road that I knew all too well. It was a road I’ve been traveling for years. Nothing could ever be that easy with Baz. The road he posted…

It was the road that I lived on – the road that would eventually lead him to my house.

He was coming back _here_. After all this time, he thought of this as _his_ home? Was I supposed to feel flattered? Angry? Surprised? I didn’t know. There wasn’t a rulebook on how to be in love with someone like Baz. There wasn’t a rulebook on how to be in love at all.

“It’s been thirty years,” I whimpered to myself as I walked out on the wraparound porch that now encompassed the entirety of the house. Several feet ahead of me was Baz, sunglasses on top of his head and suitcases on the ground at his sides. So many days I’d stood in front of the house looking out when I was younger, wanting Baz to be there but feeling relieved when he wasn’t. I used to fear that he would return.

Or maybe I actually craved it.

To be honest, all that time apart hadn’t taught me the difference.

* * *

  
  


> _Like I don't mind if you fuck up my life_

* * *

It started with a simple conversation. Baz shared about his travels and how he learned about vampire culture all around the world. He said he was hunting for a perfect place to retire – a community of vampires to spend the rest of his existence with. Easily, I joked about being immortal means he will never actually retire, and that’s just about when the pleasantries ended. We fell back into our comfortable pattern of conversation. He rolled his eyes and fake laughed at my joke.

“I still plan to retire, though,” he said calmly.

“It’s good to have goals,” I laughed at him, thinking he was just being metaphorical or philosophical or maybe some combination of the two. Despite the humorous nature of our conversation, Baz did what he does best. He made it serious.

“Will you retire with me?”

“Pardon,” I choked. We hadn’t spoken in person since he left, and the closest I’d ever come to interacting with him is the occasional comment on a post or a status or a picture that was particularly special. And now he makes a post about returning “home” to the house where he’s let me live by myself for decades? Does he really think it’s that easy to just walk back into my life? To just rebuild us in a few short minutes like we were bent rather than broken? What was he thinking? Was he thinking at all?

But then Baz laid his thoughts out for me. He was very clear about where he stood and how he felt about us. He kept saying he wasn’t out of his mind and that he wasn’t completely mad to make this request of me. Swearing up and down that he was never over me, he made it his goal to experience life so that when he came back to me he was a better man than when he had left. He wanted to deserve me when he came back. It took traveling the world and learning more about himself as a vampire to understand all of the issues he’d harbored in the relationship before.

“Why did you not retire with one of your other boyfriends?” I asked, jealous and insecure that I was still the person he wanted to be with after all this time. It seemed wrong, weird, and awkward. Why would he spend so much of his life without me – not trying to get me back? Was he really trying to because someone who “deserved me” before he came back to me? What does that even mean?

And did it mean that I hadn’t tried to change enough? Was I worth coming back to?

This is why our relationship was always so doomed.

“Boyfriends? I didn’t date anyone,” Baz said, his brows arched in shock, and his lips frowning. I thought he was playing dumb, but when I pointed out all of the pictures with other guys, he laughed at me. “Those were feeding volunteers. I was involved in a vampire clan for a while because I was too busy to hunt. They were nothing more than a dinner companion on a hungry night.”

It made me feel guilty when he said it. Especially when gestured around the house. “It would see there is no mister or missus here either. Am I wrong?”

He wasn’t but ten, twenty years ago? If he had randomly showed up like he did that day, he might not have found an empty house. Still, I had to answer the question he asked. “No, you are not.”

I waited for his response, patiently, and tried to ignore how handsome he looked sitting across from me. Baz stayed quiet and nodded his head, but must’ve known that there was more to it than what he’d mentioned. So I corrected myself, or at least amended my statement. “There is nobody now. A long time ago, there would be some, but I never kept anyone around. They were never ‘you’ enough.”

“My offer still stands, Simon, just in case you thought I would love you less for living the life I hoped you would,” he reminded me. He was right to call me out because I did think he wouldn’t want me after I’d been with other people. I was convinced for a moment that just because he hadn’t chosen partners for himself that I wouldn’t be good enough anymore. It was intimidating to think that I was Baz’s only lover. That maybe I would be his only lover for the rest of his life.

As he stared at me, waiting for me to accept or decline, it dawned on me that this came down to me. Baz laid it all out for me to decide what I wanted. We wasted too many years not knowing what the other wanted to do or what mattered to them. It was time that neither of us can get back no matter how much time either of us had left.

“Yes,” I said, a shock even to myself. I hadn’t thought about it in great length. I didn’t consider what consequences would come from my acceptance or what kind of mess I’d made of my life by agreeing to run off with Baz again. But more than that - I hadn’t even considered turning him down either. Retiring with him tempted me back into the fray, and as soon as I agreed there was nothing more to say. The look of surprised on his face had me thinking that he expected to have to fight for me to come with him.

I was too old to fight it anymore. The damage was already done. Whether or not I liked it, I would always let Baz back in to tear me apart at the seams. And he would always seek me so that we could break into pieces together. He was a slave to our mistakes just as much as I was, and so it didn’t matter how much it fucked up our lives.

There was only so much of mine left to take anyway.

But, shit, it was his to take.

**Author's Note:**

> If you're reading this and you noticed that there were a few bolded lines - then you were really paying attention! Also, you're probably wondering why those lines are bolded. Well, the answer is - I wrote another song inspired fanfiction by blackbear's song "I Don't Fucking Care." My fanficiton by the same name is another hurt/comfort, lengthy one-shot that you will definitely enjoy if you enjoyed this story. The bolded lines are the "crossover" lines from that song and from my fanfiction story. You'll see those two song lyrics in the blackbear song, and you'll see those story lines from that story as well. I was going for a similar sort of tragic vibe in both of these pieces since Simon & Baz have a very unhealthy relationship with one another.


End file.
